A Dedication
by colorlessxjv
Summary: When Betty Cooper reflects on her high school years, "The One that Got Away", was never going to be Archie Andrews.


She hadn't spoken to him in a while.

In fact, the last time she had seen him was two Christmases ago, when she was home visiting her family and they had run into each other at Pop's. He was sitting in his regular booth, laptop open and black coffee in front of him like old times and for a moment she thought she had imagined him. But they had made brief eye contact and he smiled at her hesitantly, almost shyly.

He had looked the same as he did in high school, minus the grey knit beanie that had perpetually graced his head during those years. His eyes are still the piercing blue she remembers, his hair still floppy and uncontrollable, and he's still clad in a familiar wardrobe of worn flannel and jeans.

She had returned his shy smile with a wide one, and walked over to his booth, plopping down across from him as if two years hadn't passed since they were last in Riverdale. They chatted and joked as if two years hadn't passed since they were last in Pop's diner at this very booth where he had kissed the fingermarks etched into her palms and where he had kissed her for the last time, tears on both of their faces, before they broke up to go their separate ways.

"Well well well...look who it is. What is the illustrious Jughead Jones up to these days?" she asks him, playfully stealing a french fry when she reaches the booth.

He chuckles lightly, closing his old Macbook. "Not much, as it seems," he said. "Trying to keep my head above water in my classes, I guess."

He had ended up scoring a scholarship to NYU, majoring in creative writing, and she was living out in California, ending up at UC Berkeley for English (with a minor in Political Science) and her heart set on investigative journalism.

She loved Berkeley; the people were colorful, open-minded, and shone with the type of warm personalities that only California could cultivate. She loved the distance it provided her from Riverdale, and had made it her goal to shed the last vestiges of her perfect Betty Cooper persona (although parts of it still remain, and she suspects will always be a part of her). Berkeley is where she found her voice, where she could stand on her own two feet without the shadow of Alice Cooper looming over her.

She had enjoyed herself in college. She had made a small but significant group of close friends at Cal, and still maintained her friendship with Veronica Lodge, who had followed her high school sweetheart to Northwestern. Betty sheds her insecurity, her anxiety, and her pink sweaters when she starts college. She decides to try new things, push herself out of her comfort zone, and begins to stop apologizing for being herself. She even tries weed, once, but after sputtering for about 10 minutes straight and then immediately falling asleep, decides it's not for her.

She dates here and there, even has her share of one-night stands, but every so often, on a lonely night, her thoughts would drift to her high school romance. She'd always wondered what he was up to, if he was well, and sometimes, she wondered if he thought of her too.

Her memories of their relationship are only ever good ones. "It was the real deal," she thinks to herself. And when it ended, it didn't end badly. They had agreed mutually that the distance was an obstacle that their young love couldn't withstand, choosing instead to end things before they could hate each other. She wonders about what could have happened if they had just thrown logic out the window and just gone for it, but always stops herself before that thought goes too far. She doesn't pine for him, because she's not that girl and he's not that guy anymore, but the memory of him sneaks into her thoughts when she least expects it, and then her thoughts are full of things that don't exist anymore.

So when she sees him again, they sit in that booth for what felt like hours, catching up and reminiscing on old times (while carefully sidestepping the fact that they had dated and fell apart). He was still working on the novel he had been writing since high school.

"It has to be _perfect_ , Betty," he insists, "It's my freshman attempt at a real piece of literature."

She snorts, her tone sarcastic. "Still trying to write the next great American novel, Jug?"

At this, he looks affronted, although his eyes twinkle with mirth. "Maybe. Who knows? I could be the next Kerouac. You could be begging me for my autograph one day."

At this, she beams at him. "Well, I'd better be the first one to read it. Promise me you'll send me an advance copy."

He offers a small smile back at her, his eyes soft. "Of course, Betty."

When they finally said their goodbyes that night, he had squeezed her in a crushing hug. Her heart had raced so fast she swore it could have thumped right out of her chest. It's funny- at Cal she's a confident new person, but in front of Jughead, she's back to being the Betty Cooper she's always been.

"I hope we talk soon Betts," he says, as he holds her close to him. She swallows thickly at his closeness, and how intimately he whispered in her ear, and lets out a, "Me too, Juggy," her voice catching embarrassingly in her throat. And when she made it home that night to her parent's house, she couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at how mature the interaction had been; she hadn't fallen apart at seeing her ex-boyfriend, and had actually had a good time catching up with him. Still, she couldn't fall asleep that night, laying in her childhood bed, thoughts racing, thinking about the past.

That had been two years ago. Since then, they hadn't seen each other again, but had exchanged the odd text message or Facebook chat.

She had graduated Cal with honors, of course, and, without hesitation, accepted admission to NYU's Graduate School for Journalism. She had seen the pictures of his graduation on Facebook, and had spent an embarrassingly long time examining a particularly flattering picture of him; he's smiling widely, clad in purple NYU robes, and embracing his father. In her empty apartment in New York, surrounded by boxes she had yet to unpack, she wonders when she will see him again. He knows she's in New York now, but she's too hesitant, too scared of dismissal to reach out to him first.

He hadn't been at Veronica and Archie's engagement party last week, citing work, but had texted Betty to let her know he wishes he could have been there. She had brushed off the sinking feeling of disappointment then, texting him back that she wishes he could have been there too.

When Archie kisses Veronica and everyone cheers, lifting up their champagne glasses to the happy couple, Cheryl glances at Betty and asks her if she feels weird at all, seeing her old childhood crush getting married. Betty shrugs and replies, "I'm just happy that he's happy" and means it. She had been over him for ages, and the thought of her pining after him for so long makes her cringe. Besides, if she was going to come up with a guy to label "The One that Got Away", it certainly wasn't going to be Archie Andrews.

Which is why she is so surprised when she comes home one day to a package at her doorstep, a card on top reading "Betty" in Jughead's slanted scrawl.

She reads the card first.

 _Hey Betty,_

 __ _If you haven't guessed, it's Jug. I hope you don't mind I got your new mailing address from Archie- welcome to New York! I'm sorry I couldn't see you into town, but I've been in Riverdale. Once you open the box, maybe you'll understand why. I'll see you around._

 __ _Jughead_

 __ _PS- I always keep my promises._

Betty tears open the package excitedly, letting out a laugh as she realizes what it is- his first book, THE RIVER'S EDGE by J. Jones III. Her happiness turns into that familiar pulling in her chest when she opens the book to the cover page.

" _Dedicated to BC, to whom I owe everything_."

As it turns out, Jughead's first book isn't just about Jason Blossom's murder, although the murder is part of it. His book is about the loss of innocence, about growing up and feeling the rose-tinted shades of childhood lift for the first time to reveal the real world's harsh and ugly underbelly. His book is about the loss of first love and how that love shapes him.

When Betty finishes reading, she feels the tears on her cheeks before she realizes she's crying. She wants to call him and confess to him that she loves it, that she's been thinking about him all these years, and that she finally realizes he's been thinking of her, too. She wants to tell him things that she's not sure she's fully realized yet, but she doesn't, because she's not sure that's what he wants to hear, and she's not sure what she wants his response to be.

It takes another two weeks before she builds up the courage to text him, but of course, it takes a bit of prodding from Veronica for her to do so.

Veronica had invited her to a new restaurant in Nolita for dinner, and when Betty arrives, hair sticking to her forehead from the humid summer air, Veronica asks her to be her maid of honor.

"Veronica," Betty reaches across the smooth marble tabletop to clasp Veronica's hand in her own, "you're my best friend. _Of course_ I'll be your maid of honor."

Veronica claps her hands together in satisfaction and signals to a nearby waiter, "This calls for a celebration. Excuse me? I'd like a bottle of your best champagne."

Later, as they're stumbling around the Lower East Side after bar-hopping all night, Veronica slings an arm around Betty's shoulders.

"Hey Betty," Veronica drawls slowly, "have you talked to Jughead recently?"

Betty can feel her face flushing at his name, but chalks it up to the alcohol and the summer air. "No, I haven't. But I've been meaning to," she replies, hoping her response sounds breezy and casual.

Veronica stares at her for a beat too long and Betty can feel herself growing uncomfortable.

"I think Archie might ask him to be best man."

Betty lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I suppose I should reach out to him soon. He sent me an advance copy of his book and I haven't thanked him yet."

"He did?" Veronica's stride falters a bit, her tone a touch incredulous. "I didn't realize you guys were still close."

Betty shrugs, hoping her voice doesn't betray how unsure she is about the whole thing. "I mean, we talk here and there. I made him promise to send me a copy. Nothing serious."

"That's sweet of him to do. You should definitely _reconnect_ , if you know what I mean." Veronica arches an eyebrow at her, her voice heavy with implication.

Betty rolls her eyes but says nothing more.

By the time Betty finally texts him, his book has been published. It's a major hit, and Veronica tells Betty that _The River's Edge_ might make the NY Times Bestsellers List.

"According to some of daddy's friends, that is," Veronica mentions while they're getting pedicures.

Betty decides to text him that night. "Congratulations on the book," she types. Feeling stupid, she adds, "I really loved it." She presses send before she loses her courage.

His response back is almost immediate. "Did you really?" and before she can type something back, he sends, "I'm glad you liked it. I didn't know how you would feel about it."

He writes, "do you want to meet up for coffee sometime?" and she writes back "yes".

They meet a couple days later at a coffee shop near his apartment. He's standing outside, looking for her when she approaches, and when he sees her, he smirks. She's a mess, she thinks, with her curly hair piled up in a bun off of her neck, and while she wore her prettiest summer dress (a floaty little thing with small buttons up the front), she's pretty sure there's a sweat stain across her back.

"Of course you live in Brooklyn," she huffs; the subway ride from her apartment in the Lower East Side was less than pleasant.

He can only grin at her, and even though she's sweaty and annoyed (she is determined to write a full piece on manspreading on the L train), she grins back and takes him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, Jug."

"Likewise, Cooper," he says, as he pulls away from her.

She orders a latte and he orders black coffee and they sit and chat about Veronica and Archie's upcoming nuptials, the launch of his book, her upcoming class schedule, and how she's been adjusting to her move. She likes this, she thinks, this easy conversation. His hair flops into his eyes when he gets excited about something, and she refrains herself from brushing her fingers through his hair, from touching him at all.

He tells her about FP and how he's living in Astoria now, maintaining a steady job, sober and dating someone new, someone good for him. He tells her about Jellybean and how she's applying for colleges now, and gives her a pointed look when he tells her that JB's top choice is UC Berkeley. He tells her about how crazy the book's success is, and stumbles over his words when he tells her that the top question he gets from readers is who 'BC' is. He tells her that the new book he's working on is inspired by his father, but when she asks for more details, he gives her a mischievous little smile and tells her she'll have to wait for her advance copy to find out. When the afternoon extends into evening, he invites her to dinner and they go to his favorite Italian place in the city.

The place is small and reasonably priced, so she splurges and buys a bottle of red for the table. Her knees knock against his in the small curved booth they're seated in and when he reaches for the wine bottle to pour a second glass for her, he rests a hand on her knee, his thumb rubbing circles on her kneecap, and leaves it there until they get up to leave.

There's electricity in the summer air as they stroll through the city. At some point she curls her fingers into his, and they're walking hand-in-hand. She doesn't hesitate when he invites her upstairs to his place and when they finally make it up to his apartment, she musters up all of the confidence she gained in California and presses her lips firmly to his.

To her relief, he kisses her back, almost as fervently, and when they part to take a breath, she whispers, "I thought about you, you know. When I was in California. I thought about this."

He leans back slightly, to take her in. She knows what she must look like right now; her hair had finally fallen victim to the humidity, her makeup probably smudged, lipstick rubbed off. But he smiles at her, and brushes a frizzy curl of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her chin.

When he responds, his eyes are dark and focused on her lips. "I thought about this too. I thought about what it would be like when I finally got to see you again. It's different, though, from what I had originally imagined."

She arches an eyebrow at this. "How so?"

He makes eye contact with her now, stormy blue meeting her green. "It's better."

As he leans in to kiss her again, Betty can't help but agree.

AN:

My first fanfic! I had this idea in my head for a while, thinking about how, when people reconcile, they come together again as different people who've grown and had new experiences and interests. I've also really liked the idea of someone like Betty Cooper coming into her own at somewhere as hippie-dippie and liberal as UC Berkeley. I may expand upon this story if there's interest. I hope you enjoyed, and (constructive) criticism is always welcome.


End file.
